Today is the second anniversary of the fatal car wreck which took my son (35) and his wife leaving 3 young children (6, 4 and 8 months) orphaned. This morning all that still feels like the immaculate conception of triplets at the age of 65. I have taken to calling my only grandchildren, "Foster Kids" because the grandmother platitudes are hitting my heart like a harsh reminder of just how much we have lost. Spoiling them rotten while I provide their favorite vacation spots is a far cry from the demands of getting them through Coronaville, etc. "Foster Mother" describes the current dynamics of our relationships far better than any Grandma stereotypes. I miss fitting those stereotypes to the best of my availability. This ain't even close to the same thing on either side of the Grand relations.
Warren Zevon continues providing the tune and most of the words for the grieving process. "Sometimes while I am doing simple things around the house, I want to think of you and smile. You know your tied to me like the buttons on my blouse. Keep me in your heart for a while. I will hold you in my thoughts, I will take you to my dreams, I will touch you when you come into view. While the Fall is falling, I will watch your children grow and feel you right next to me."
No advice, please. Just processing. . . Support appreciated.